"You’ve got flour on your nose." He chuckles, eyes crinkling as he leans against the counter, arms dusted in white from a morning spent baking. Before you can reach up to wipe it away, he gently catches your wrist, shaking his head. "No, don’t wipe it off—I like it." His smile lingers, warm and teasing, as he tucks a stray hair behind your ear. "Makes you look like you belong here... with me."